


Crash, Pull

by suliswrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Beach Sex, F/M, Love/Hate, Redemption, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Smut, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 13:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suliswrites/pseuds/suliswrites
Summary: Gift for Scorching Summer Fest 2019.Prompt: "Hermione Granger was simply taking a walk on what she thought was a lonely isolated beach. Nothing like a sea breeze and the sound of waves crashing against the rocks and sand to refresh the mind and soul. But her respite comes screeching to a halt when she happens upon an equally isolated, contemplative Lucius Malfoy staring off into the sea. He hasn't seen her yet... she can choose to slip away. Or she can act on the brash and intense, nonsensical whim that's popped up in her thoughts. Tensions between them have improved over the few short years since the war... but what Hermione wants to happen there hidden among the rocks, dunes, and waves, has the potential to stir up so much more than either of them anticipated."





	Crash, Pull

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Lusting_After_Lumione](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Lusting_After_Lumione) collection. 

> A/N: A huge thank you to my brilliant beta reader, Anima. Enjoy.

“Crash, Pull”

_“You feel it pulling at you? It tries to reel you back in with it. Feel that?” _

Hermione smiled at the memory. Her mother’s summer-freckled cheeks, lines starting to crinkle around her warm eyes as she smiled at her daughter.

She must have been not much older than 6, standing in the sand on this very beach as her mother knelt down beside her and they let the tide lap at their feet. She’d stared down in wonder at the foam as it rose to her ankles, then _whooshed_ back out, sinking her toes into the swirling earth and pulling her back towards the sea with it. 

Standing on the shore now, staring out at the waves, Hermione wondered if her mother might be sharing an echo of that moment with a new child on a sun-soaked beach somewhere in Australia. 

It did no good to dwell on how much she missed them. Her parents were safe; she’d done plenty of grieving for their lost relationship in the years since the war, but she hadn’t come here to do more. 

No, it was a complete whim that led her to the coast. She’d locked up her office two hours early and apparated straight here, attempting to escape the stress that seemed to be crushing in all around her. 

Once the war had ended, Hermione was presented with endless opportunities in all manner of fields. For all of her years dreaming of a life at the Ministry or as a professor at Hogwarts, she found herself studying Healing – specifically, the healing of the wizarding world’s rarest and most mysterious curses. 

The unknown purple curse Dolohov had used on her in the Department of Mysteries had left lasting effects, both physically and psychologically. Every few months her ribs would ache, with something like a fluid fever racing through them. The more she researched the least understood curses in their world – and the aftermath that they wrought – the more she felt it her purpose to try to understand and heal as many of them as she could.

This work, however, was taking its toll. Beyond the long hours and endless appointments and treatments Hermione took on, the emotional burden of witnessing the aftermath of so much violence and hatred felt heavier every year. 

Rare curses were often disturbingly savage in nature; her work haunted her, particularly when she found herself struggling to heal the victims. 

She felt herself yearning for hope - in others and the world at large - that she hadn’t had in years. The war had changed her hope, but also significantly built its reserves in the end. It was the smaller, everyday things that piled up one on the other over years and years at her practice that pierced her resolve. 

When this happened, she often sought connection with her loved ones, but sometimes it didn’t soothe the apathy or anguish as much as she hoped it would. And so, she returned to nature – seeking something vital, essential and true from the earth and sea.

It seemed that nearly every year she would end up here at some point, searching for that something from the raw coastline that might align her once more with her core sense of grounding. 

Though the nature reserve was open to the public, she’d never seen another living soul on her walks. It saddened her to think that humans, magical and muggle alike, weren’t seeking the wonders of nature as much as they seemed to in the past. She’d tried to get Harry to join her once, but he preferred the bustle of London. All those years in the suburbs, he’d said, the noise and movement were a comfort to him. 

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the salty air. It was a beautiful day: the kind that brushed your skin with unusually warm gusts of wind, the kind that made the sea wink in its depths. 

Formal robes draped over her arm, sensible work heels dangling from her hand, she walked and walked, staring out into the blue green shimmering with light. 

What a sight she must be, she thought, in her pencil skirt and blouse – curls freeing from pins to whip around her face. Gods, she felt _human_ again, lulled into a blissful calm by the familiar rhythm of sound.

_Crash, Pull – Crash, Pull – Crash, Pull – Crash, Pull_

Enormous rocks scattered the coastline; she wound around them leisurely, heading for her most treasured spot. Bluffs towered high above her, gulls circling in their familiar dance overhead. 

Turning around a bend into her favorite cove, Hermione halted abruptly at the shocking sight of another person already sitting in the sand. She pulled back behind the rocks, violently jolted from her solitary reverie. Then the vision she’d taken in caught up with her thoughts. 

No - _Impossible– _

Another peek around the edge confirmed the unbelievable sight before her. There, sitting alone in the cove, staring out at the sea, was _Lucius Malfoy_ of all people.

And, Merlin, he looked so… human.

He was sitting casually in the sand, arms resting on his knees, feet bare. Those ice grey eyes bright with light reflecting up from pale sand, calmly watching the tide’s pulsing movement, his expression thoughtful and melancholy.

What a revelation – that sneer at the turn of his lips wasn’t permanently fixed. 

Clearly his guard was down if he hadn’t noticed her. How much of his peacocking arrogance was a mask? 

Hermione wondered what a wizard like him would be doing in such a place; his stiff, formal air completely undone. Robes cast off, covered in sand - cuffs of his trousers rolled up around his ankles – the top button of his shirt unfastened. 

The breeze caught strands of his platinum hair. He was inhaling deeply, seeming to bask in relief at the smell of the sea. 

Vaguely, she registered that she found the sight of an Ex-Death Eater looking so forlorn hard to process. Had she believed him incapable of such emotions? Had she really reduced another human being to such a simplification? No, that would be almost impossible to do with him since… 

The image burst forward in her memory - the haunted desolation in his eyes, hands bound limply in front of him as he stood before the Wizengamot at his trial. The brief glimpse she’d had of him then, she could barely believe it was the same man. 

And now here he was, taking deep breaths of the sea air just like her, clearly lost in thought.

Her first instinct was to apparate away immediately. What good could possibly come from provoking him, especially if she surprised him while in such a vulnerable state?

None, she thought. Best case scenario, insults; Worst case scenario, curses. 

She had no wish to spend her evening in either St. Mungo’s or at the Ministry explaining herself to the Aurors, should she need to defend herself. The look on Harry’s face were he to be the one to respond! 

She took out her wand but did not find herself leaving. 

Her curiosity was overwhelmingly piqued. Once that pull was at play, Hermione had very little control of her impulses until she investigated the source of her intellectual query. 

Though still by no means friends or even friendly acquaintances, relations had somewhat improved between her and the Malfoy patriarch over the years, at least from her perspective. After his term of house arrest and community service had ended, he had continued to give to the rebuilding of the wizarding community. According to Harry’s intel at the Auror Office, he’d also given names upon names of Death Eaters and other Voldemort supporters abroad.

Hermione had heard word of his work with many of the organizations at the front lines – both in financial generosity and time and energy spent on their boards. Kingsley’s Ministry had made an example of him: ‘The Reformed Pureblood,’ a supposed exemplary rehabilitated citizen for the staunchest radical members of the pureblooded community to mark and fall in line with. Hermione had even collaborated on a smattering of charity projects with him, in a sense, though all communicated through other parties. 

Never once since the war ended had she heard of him speaking the derogatory language he’d previously used without hesitation. By all accounts, even from those who hated to admit it, Lucius Malfoy had truly been attempting to atone. 

That didn’t, however, keep his intimidating air of smug disdain and carefully affected superiority from radiating off of him. 

Was this reformed wizard he appeared to be just an act? Or had his beliefs truly changed through everything that had happened? She honestly wasn’t sure what to believe on any given day. 

This new dichotomy intrigued Hermione, and a few months ago, while chancing across him in the Ministry Atrium, she found herself purposefully nodding at him in a passing greeting. 

A somewhat perplexed expression on his face, he nodded back civilly, bowing his head slightly further than she had. 

And that was it. No words traded, certainly no conversations had over the years. Just looks across crowded charity auctions and one civil nod across the Atrium.

Given all of this, though, she felt certain he wouldn’t hurt her. That was a fear of who she’d originally known him to be. The worst he could do should she approach were words. 

And battles of words were, for better or worse, one of Hermione’s favorite things. 

Sighing, she chanced another look around the bend. 

He looked so comfortable in his skin - so at ease dirty and on the ground. His expression was effortless and open - constantly connected to and shifting with the flow of his thoughts. No walls, nothing hidden. 

This vision of him - so undone, his lips parted, frame languid in relaxation - suddenly did something to her. 

_Gods_. She actually _wanted_ him. 

It was no news that a greater part of the wizarding world considered Lucius Malfoy to be a very attractive man. (He certainly seemed to share the opinion.) It was, however, news to Hermione that her body appeared to enthusiastically agree. 

Suddenly, unbidden visions of him close to her - too close - were inescapable. _His hands on her bare skin, his lips at the pulse in her neck, his voice whispering in her ear. _

Hermione gulped. Well, that’s unexpected, she thought. Who knew her imagination could get away from her so easily? She would need to put a firm stop to this new line of thinking before it overcame her regimented self-control.

Surely she didn’t truly want those visions to be reality? Surely.

Tucking her wand back into her robes with the decision to look one more time, she moved slowly to peek around the corner. 

She was met with a close up on the business end of Lucius Malfoy’s wand. 

Hermione froze, heart thundering in her ears, hands impulsively opening before her in show of peace. 

Her eyes met his – that glacial grey-blue fierce and charged in defense. The chilling threat in them flickered momentarily to surprise, though it disappeared so seamlessly she wondered if she had seen it at all. 

The sneer had returned; his mask in full effect, broad shoulders back, stance regal and ready for duel. 

“Pleasure to see you too,” Hermione breathed. 

Lucius took her in silently for a moment, eyes narrowing. His wand remained where it was. 

“Did you follow me here?” he said.

“No. A twist of fate, apparently,” she replied indignantly, looking with pointed frustration to the weapon he still had trained on her. 

He huffed a short laugh under his breath, expression barely shifting. “Cruel goddesses, the Fates.” 

The man is _bizarre,_ Hermione thought. She lowered her hands, waiting for him to do the same, growing more exasperated with every moment. “I think you’re quite safe from me now.” 

Lucius marked her growing ire but kept the wand in its place, ignoring her comment. “How long have you been watching me?”

“Perhaps I was simply minding my own business - or does the concept of my finding more intriguing things than you to watch astound you?” she said with derision. 

The sneer grew. Finally, he lowered his wand. 

“Leave.” 

Without another look at her, he turned, walking back towards the center of the cove. 

Hermione couldn’t decide what outraged her more – that he would presume to tell her to leave a public space, or that he didn’t want to respond to the catalyst of her being here in the first place. No further interrogation? No insults? No threats? 

She found herself storming after him towards the tideline. 

Lucius turned around slowly to face her. 

Hermione came to a stop a few meters from him and crossed her arms defiantly. 

He glared at her. 

They stood like this for a few moments in silent standoff. 

Finally, he angled his head to the side, eyebrows raised. _“Yes_, Ms. Granger?” The words drawn out, his eyes darkening in vexation.

Hermione lifted her chin, rosy lips setting in a firm line. “No.”

Lucius glowered. _“No?”_

She held her stance. “I’ve been coming to this place for years – I’m not leaving simply because you tell me to. What are _you_ doing here? This seems far from your preferred _opulence.” _

Lucius continued to stare at her, tension flickering in his now clenched jaw. He took a deep calming breath in through his nose. 

“For your information, Ms. Granger, I own this beach.”

Hermione frowned at this, standing up even straighter, confident in her knowledge of the area. “No-” That doesn’t make any sense. “This is a Nature Reserve.” 

“Ah, you can read signs as well as books. _Your point?”_

There’s that familiar insult she was waiting for. 

Hermione was flummoxed. The idea of Lucius Malfoy owning her favorite escape and most reliable source of comfort in all the world came as quite a shock. Let alone the fact that he’d made it accessible to common people, magical and muggle alike.

For the first time, a slight knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I see. You think me incapable of appreciating, or indeed, protecting the natural world?”

Finds that amusing, does he? Hermione fixed him with a scowl. “No, Mr. Malfoy, I have found you to be quite capable of anything.” 

His smirk grew. “My. One could almost mistake that for a compliment.” 

_“Almost,”_ Hermione said. 

After a moment of each regarding the other, Lucius turned to face the waves. “Despite its lack of – opulence,” he emphasized her chosen word with distaste, “I value that sound just as much as the next fool.”

Hermione noticed he seemed to be pulled back into the hypnotizing power of the ocean for a moment, before looking back to her with his usual disdain. 

“As you seem to be availing yourself of its peace and permitted public access, I’d say you have me to thank.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, very much used to encountering a version of this line of thinking from many men in her life. _Honestly._

“I won’t be thanking you for the tides or the sand, Mr. Malfoy. Nor the acres of wood. They were a pleasure to me and others long before you ‘owned’ them. I’m quite content to thank them in their own right.” She let out a sigh, uncrossing her arms. “Though, _begrudgingly,_ I do thank you for protecting them for future generations.”

Though his eyes remained blank, he met her remark with a quick, strained smile and a nod. “You’re _welcome_. As you can see, there are miles and miles of coastline to enjoy,” he gestured to the expanse. “Perhaps even a cove or two yet _unoccupied.”_

At this, he returned to his previous perch in the sand and sat down, effectively dismissing her. 

Fuming, and more than a little eager to have the last word, Hermione followed and promptly sat down next to him. 

Once again, he turned his head slowly to glare at her. 

She made herself comfortable, throwing the heels and formal robes she’d been carrying to the side. “I came to spend a relaxing sunset at the beach, and I _intend_ on having a relaxing sunset at the beach. _This_ beach. Besides,” the compulsion to provoke him felt out of her control, “You’re lonely.”

A charged silence hung between them for a moment. 

_“Am_ I?” 

Hermione looked back over to him, finding the seething expression that dared her to continue thoroughly unnerving. Merlin, she thought. Anger in him looks like a wolf circling. 

Despite the intimidation, she found herself nodding confidently. “Clearly.” 

He leaned slightly closer to her - she suddenly caught the scent of him. A smoky fragrance of sandalwood, neroli and amber. “Would it assuage your gracious _concern_ to hear that loneliness is not a predicament I frequently suffer from, Ms. Granger?” 

Hermione felt her cheeks flush involuntarily at his implication and increased proximity.

Rumors in the years since his divorce, mostly led by Skeeter at the Daily Prophet, had chronicled quite the list of witches associated with him. It had almost become a joke how regularly the paper featured such an article – some picture and headline of another outing with yet another woman. Skeeter touted a slew of identical gossip regarding Narcissa Black. 

The two had become easily-consumable entertainment for the masses – publicly discussed around the dinner table. Hermione refused to read such nonsense – but that didn’t stop her from catching the photographs. 

She couldn’t decide whether his saying such a thing to her was intimidating or exciting. Nor, indeed, why he would choose such a statement in the first place. Had it had the effect he’d intended it to have?

Regardless, the only response she could meet it with was one of further provocation.

“Right. Loneliness would be too vulnerable an emotion for you to admit,” she dared. Why not dare even further, she thought... “Not even when you were in your cell?” 

It was a bold decision to speak of this, she knew. He responded with a stare of menacing amusement. Lucius looked at her as though she were digging her own grave. He smiled calmly before answering. 

“Especially not then. There is no ‘alone’ in Azkaban. In fact, at the time I would have killed for some loneliness.” She heard the unsaid words almost as clearly as if he had voiced them: _“Not unlike now.” _

“Well, look at that - your wish came true. You _are_ lonely now and could use the company.” 

“And you’re volunteering yourself for that position, are you? Somehow I feel less than relieved.”

She smiled benevolently. _“You’re welcome.” _

Expression souring, Lucius turned his attention once more to the tide.

They each stared at the waves, a deafening strain hanging in the air. Foam inched closer and closer with every wave, the tide beginning to come in. The sky was bruising violet-orange, diffusing out from the horizon. 

“I could just kick you off of the property, you know.” 

Hermione suppressed a grin. “You may own the land, but as you said yourself, it is designated as a public space. _You_ could always leave.” 

Lucius turned once more to take her in, a new curiosity in his eyes as he examined her. 

He took a long, calculating look at her - his stare alarmingly piercing. A conclusion settled in him and quite suddenly, his entire demeanor shifted, a new mask of dulcet charm replacing the first. “Ah, but then, _you’d_ be lonely.”

A jittering stab of unease settled in Hermione’s stomach at this sudden change. The game now seemed to have left her control. She felt anxious at the realization that his charms truly did seem to have an effect on her. Even the subtlest shift in his body language and tone had her pulse threading faster through her veins. 

He was clearly enjoying the new discomfort that had overcome her. 

Pull yourself together Granger, she thought. Change the subject - put it back on him. 

“What’s troubling you?” she asked.

“Are we in muggle analysis now? I wasn’t aware you were that type of healer.”

“I’m not. But it’s clearly the question that needs asking. So, go on, your turn.” 

“And what healing art _do_ you practice, Ms. Granger?” 

“I’m a Rare Curse Healer, as you no doubt already know. Now stop avoiding the question - rip off your silly pride like a bandage - it’ll only hurt for a second.”

Lucius clearly found this metaphor distasteful. He fixed her with a look of such supreme, condescending irritation – it immediately recalled for her the identical expression Draco had thrown at her across classrooms for years. He returned to looking at the sea, ignoring her. 

_Draco._ Hermione remembered seeing his name in the morning Prophet as she sipped coffee at her desk. 

_‘SOCIETY LOVEBIRDS TO MARRY!_

_Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy announce their engagement._

_The most sought-after social invitation of the year!”_

The puzzle-pieces came flooding in all at once. “Draco is getting married,” she murmured. 

Lucius still didn’t turn to look at her. “That he is. I see you read the Prophet like everyone else.”

“But surely that’s cause for celebration?” Not brooding on an isolated beach, she thought.

An expertly sculpted smile flashed briefly across his lips as he continued to watch the waves. “Indeed.” 

Hermione watched him, the realization dawning. “You’re not invited to join in that celebration, are you?” 

Lucius’ eyes widened a fraction, head turning to glare at her. 

Hermione saw the traces of shock and vulnerability flood through his stare before the fury set. She couldn’t help but continue. “And despite how that must feel… you’re _proud_ of him for setting the boundary between you.” Her brow furrowed as she took in his expression. “All the while itching to break it.” 

Piercing rage was burning like fiendfyre in his eyes now. He forced words through gritted teeth. _“Are you a legilimens, Ms. Granger?”_

She could see the muscle flickering in his jaw as the fury built in him. It was impossible not to physically _feel_ his anger as it emanated from him. But she refused to be rattled. 

“No. Just highly lo-” she stopped herself, “Just - perceptive.”

Lucius’s eyes narrowed, his breaths heavy and deep, every muscle tensed. He leaned slightly closer to her. “Well I assure you, at the moment, I long to break something else entirely,” he hissed. _“Go.”_

Hermione didn’t let his threatening motion set her into cowering. She remained where she was, straightening her back, holding her true feelings as she kept his eye contact without shame. “I’m sorry you’re hurting,” she replied, quietly. 

He looked her up and down. _“No, you’re not._ And I neither need nor deserve your pity. I told you - to - _leave.”_

Hermione’s blood pressure began to rise. She returned his glare. “You’re right, you don’t. You know well enough that your own decisions brought this upon you. That doesn’t mean I can’t feel empathy for your suffering.” 

Lucius raised his eyebrows. “Empathy? Is _that_ what you think this is?” He shook his head in disbelief. “You are sat so high on your pillar of virtue. It must bring you immense pleasure to watch me crumble beneath you.”

Hermione sucked in an outraged breath. “That’s been _your_ way of thinking, _not mine._ You’re deflecting. Can you not bear to have your pain witnessed for even a moment?” she hurled, exasperated. 

_“Leave it, Granger,”_ he snarled, jolting towards her in warning.

“Or_ what?”_ Hermione dared, standing. 

Lucius stood as well, towering over her. _“Or –”_ he stopped mid-sentence, huffing a great composing exhale through his nose. He took a few steps back from her, visibly forcing himself to disengage. 

_“Merlin, help me I…”_ he muttered to himself, attempting to bridle his emotions. He flexed his fists, turning from her and pacing away, taut hostility shuddering through his frame.

“No doubt this is precisely the reason Draco doesn’t want you there. When even an inkling of human vulnerability is asked of you, you’re back to walls of intimidation and threat.” 

In an instant Lucius had whipped back around to her, seething. “You know – _nothing_ – of what you _dare_ speak of,” he thundered. 

Something thrilled in her at his reaction.

Hermione sprang forward, “Then tell me, you contemptuous prick!” 

He looked at her as if she’d spontaneously grown horns._“You?”_ He barked out a bitter laugh, “Tell _you!”_ he roared.

The tide was continuing to inch up the shore, nearly to them now, spray grazing their legs. 

Hermione took another step toward him, chin high. “Can’t stand to _feel something_ in front of a _mudblood,_ is that it?” she challenged. 

Lucius visibly winced as the word left her lips. He looked away from her, voice lowering, “Don’t use that –”

“Oh,_ I’m_ not allowed to say it? Answer me!” Hermione shouted. 

He returned his glare to her but refused to respond. Hermione advanced aggressively towards him. “I said, _is - that - it?” _

Her prodding worked. He jolted forward to meet her with an exasperated growl, gritting his teeth and staring down at her with angry, ragged breaths.

As soon as he did, he saw a flash of exhilaration dart through her amber eyes. 

Lucius froze. 

Breaths still ragged, but brow furrowing, he slowly leaned back, regarding her. 

“Ms. Granger…” his eyes searched hers. “Are you…” scrutinizing every detail of her expression, “… _deliberately_ trying to rile me?”

Hermione stared back, now with slightly panicked indignation.

_“What do you think?”_ she spat, somewhat unconvincingly. 

His eyes narrowed. “I think it clear that you _are._ Which leaves me to wonder - why, _you_ \- a modern paragon of genius,” he leaned in, closing the distance between them, whispering threateningly into her ear, “- would do such a _foolish thing?” _

Her entire body lit to the proximity of his. Hermione heard an unmistakably _lustful_ sigh leave her in exhale.

Lucius drew back slowly at the sound, looking at her in shock.

It took him a moment to form the words. _“I see.”_

He stepped away from her. 

They stared at each other awkwardly in silent alarm, frozen in this shocking revelation. 

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She could feel her cheeks burning, undoubtedly a bright hue of crimson. 

He looked as though his thoughts were racing a mile a minute. 

Finally, he spoke calmly, “I’ll ask you again: did you follow me here?”

“No,” Hermione said quickly. “This was a complete surprise to me as well,” she murmured. 

Lucius nodded faintly, watching her carefully. 

The tide was upon them now. When the largest of waves hit, foam just grazed their feet.

“How long…” he began, voice shockingly devoid of his usual smug pride, “...have you desired me?”

Hermione’s breath caught in her chest. This was it, then. No hiding. 

“I’m not sure,” she breathed. Her hands kneaded the fabric of her skirt. “I don’t think I… let myself realize it, till I saw you here.” 

Lucius was watching the motion of her hands, brow furrowed, mouth slightly parted. For a brief moment it looked as though the confused shock in his eyes gave way to distrusting _joy._ Gone in an instant. 

Hermione’s heart pounded, adrenaline racing. No – _how?_ But she was certain she’d seen- 

She took a recklessly confident step toward him. “How long have you desired _me?”_

Lucius met her gaze, a bemused smile suddenly clashing against the disbelief in his narrowed eyes. 

He shook his head to himself, taking his time to respond.

“Since my trial - you _insufferably perceptive_ know-it-all. Does that shock you?” 

It truly did. All the confidence she’d found began to quiver. “Yes,” she stammered. “That was years ago. I hardly saw you that day - we never interacte-” 

“Oh, but I saw you.” Lucius stepped toward her, their bodies now once more only a foot or so apart, close enough to touch. 

Quite suddenly his expression twisted into a visage of constrained anguish – he shifted his eyes to the ground. 

Hermione could barely process the sudden change. It was so much emotion – beyond anything she’d ever seen from him, even that day at the Wizengamot. 

He could barely get out what he was trying to voice. She stood frozen waiting, breath quickening. 

Finally, the words came forcing their way through, barely above a whisper. 

_“Why did you speak for me? I let her touch you. I let her curse you…”_ The strain of emotion in his tone was almost unbearable. _“- I would have let all manner of things happen to you in my cowardice. Things that very nearly did happen.” _

It took a moment to fully register what he was saying. What he was asking. She couldn’t believe it. He’d been carrying _all of it._ All these years. How much it clearly cost him voice it to her now. 

She’d wandered here looking for some kind of hope, and suddenly here it was. 

Hermione angled her head so he was forced to meet her eyes.

“By then you were a prisoner too. Of your own making. But a prisoner nonetheless. What good could come of making you one again - when your own self-loathing was so clearly cage enough?”

Lucius searched her expression. “So _clearly?”_ he asked, astounded.

“Yes,” she said. “To me, anyway.” Hermione found herself smiling. “Don’t fret, Mr. Malfoy. Your mask of indifference is as impenetrable as ever.” 

A mischievous smile began to gleam in eyes at this. 

“Well,” he said. “That _is_ a comfort. I shall cease my ‘fretting.’” 

He smirked down at her, eyes drifting to her lips. 

“I have another name, you know.” His voice was low now, the new tone sparking a surge of heat that flooded through her entire body.

Eyebrows raising in feigned surprise, Hermione nodded. “You’ll be surprised to learn I have one as well.”

Lucius nodded slowly in return. “Is that so? What are the odds.” 

They chanced grins at one another, so strangely close but not touching, eyes roving over each other. 

What was happening? The peculiar peace that had come between them was fraught with unsettling suspense. 

After several moments, when she’d continued to not back away, Lucius moved to lean his warm body against hers. 

He lowered his mouth to her ear, the back of his fingers tracing a tentative line down her arm. His breath against her skin had her trembling.

“And which part of me do you find yourself wanting, _Hermione?_ The man caged in his self-loathing,” he traced a soft kiss under her ear, “or the Death Eater?” at this he nipped a fervid bite at her neck. 

Hermione whimpered.

“All of it,” she heard herself breathe into his chest. Without thinking, she reached for his shirt. “All of you.” 

She drew him to her, hands behind his neck, urgently pulling him down to meet her lips. 

For all the dancing up until this moment, their kiss was anything but tentative. He seized her roughly in his arms, their lips warring with each other, demanding hands grasping and caressing. 

The waves were beating steadily at their ankles now, rushes of foam churning up around them.

His tongue sought entrance to her mouth and she let him in, a soft moan escaping her as he deepened the kiss. 

Hermione felt an urgent heat coiling in her core. Her need almost overwhelming, she bit down harshly on his lower lip – an exquisite groan leaving him in reward. 

She was tearing at his shirt, pulling buttons as quickly as she could, jerking it back off his shoulders and arms to reveal his sculpted chest, which rose and fell steadily in heavy breaths.

His strong hands gripped her ass and pulled her violently into him – the hard length of him pressing eagerly into her abdomen. 

That was when Hermione knew she could not stop herself. She wanted him here. Now.

As he began to trail frenzied kisses down her neck, she found herself pulling him down to the sand. 

He followed, the tide lapping at their bodies, soaking them with sand and salt-water. Neither of them noticed. 

Lucius continued his assault of her jaw and neck, nuzzling his nose into her skin as he kissed and bit and licked – his fingers nimbly working the buttons on her blouse as Hermione melted under his touch. She pulled aside her bra, impatiently. 

He looked down at her in wonder, teasingly caressing her as his legs settled between hers. She felt him forcefully yank up the fabric of her skirt, tugging it over her hips.

He whispered hotly in her ear, _“Is this what you want?”_

His fingers pulled aside her knickers and found her soaking wet. “Yes -” Hermione gasped, _“Please - yes -”_

He began to caress her - excruciatingly slow, the pressure and movement building and building until she felt herself arching in desperation for more. 

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat as another wave came upon them. Hermione felt her patience disintegrating – the excruciatingly divine foreplay made her want him inside of her immediately. 

Shocked at her own boldness, Hermione pushed, flipping him onto his back and promptly straddling him. She began to undo his trousers. 

Lucius watched in awe. “You’re too forgiving a person, you know. _That’s dangerous.” _

She grinned, pulling his belt free. “I seem to be able to survive it. Besides –” she unfastened the button, pulling down his zipper, “I haven’t forgiven you.” 

“No?” he breathed, eyes clouding in lust, watching her as she released him. 

“Quite the opposite,” she said, licking her palm and slowly beginning to stroke his length with her hand. “I crave revenge.” 

His head fell back as a low moan escaped him. “And how,” he said between ragged breaths, “do you intend to take it?” 

An impish smile. Hermione positioned herself over him, watching his every reaction. 

_“By making you worship me.”_ Then she lowered herself down onto him slowly, inch by inch, until she was completely full.

Lucius groaned, eyes rolling back, his hands taking fierce grip of her hips. Hermione gasped at the overwhelming feeling of him completely inside of her. 

“Careful, witch,” he warned darkly, “I don’t take well to being reigned.” But the fevered bliss in his eyes betrayed his words. 

She raised herself all the way up, rocking back down vigorously against him, tearing another guttural moan from his lips. _Crash –_ The tide beat against their legs. _Pull -_

“Of course you do,” she whispered, repeating the movement. _Crash –_

“That’s all you’ve ever wanted, isn’t it?” Again. _Pull –_ Her own moan sounding.

“A _match?” Crash - _

Quite suddenly, Hermione found herself on her back, pinned to the sand. Lucius thrust forcefully into her with an impassioned growl; she cried out, ecstasy pooling like molten honey in her core. 

His teeth bit into her neck as he drove into her. She dragged her nails violently down his back.

_“You’ll be the ruin of me, witch,”_ he whispered fiercely into crook of her neck.

Then his hands were tracing the contours of her. He pulled back, lowering his mouth to her breasts, his tongue tormenting flicks, sucks and bites at her nipples. 

Hermione couldn’t control the sounds escaping her, her head falling back, her fingers tangling through his now wet and sandy hair.

He lifted her legs over his shoulders and thrust again, harder - to the hilt. Hermione was lost – the new angle delirious bliss, every thrilling sensation stronger than the last. 

Then Lucius pinned her wrists firmly over her head - Hermione’s pleasure soaring further as she pulled helplessly against his restraint. 

His eyes gleamed watching her writhe beneath him as he drove into her again and again.

She gasped his name. The begging sound spurred him, a wicked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

They held each other’s eyes as the movement overtook them, faster and faster. 

_Crash – Pull – Crash – Pull – Crash – Pull –_

_“Come for me, Hermione.”_ He reached his other hand down between them to stroke the tender bundle of nerves at her center.

The dam burst. Hermione felt the exquisite all-consuming orgasm take her; shouting his name, her hips rocking up to meet him again and again as the spasming rapture surged through her.

As she contracted around him, he gave into his own euphoria - groaning in uncontrolled pleasure as he released into her.

Their movements slowing, Lucius released her, easing to her side.

They lay wound up in each other, both panting heavily, staring at the sky as the tide continued to lap against them. She felt a brief, tender brush of his lips at her shoulder.

It wasn’t clear how long they lay like that. 

In her heavy daze, Hermione couldn’t even remember how they’d transitioned to standing. 

Their sudden distance from each other felt shocking. 

She began to rebutton her blouse, watching as he turned from her to retrieve his shirt, now soaking wet and covered in sand.

She stared at his back as he cast a drying spell on both them and their clothing before starting to pull on his shirt. 

The sight of him turned from her, that trademark platinum trailing down his shoulders, shook her suddenly out of her trance. 

The weight of all that had just happened settled over her. 

She’d just had unplanned, passionate sex in a public place - had just had the best orgasm of her life - with a man she barely knew, a man old enough to be her father, a man who had once stood and fought for everything she abhorred. A Death Eater. 

Hermione felt the dizzying storm of confusion and fear cloud her bliss. 

It wasn’t just the sex – she’d felt _connected_ to him. That _hope._ She could already feel the dangerous craving for so much more beyond this moment.

How could a connection like that ever possibly exist outside this place? They could never – _she_ could never. The world would tear them to shreds, from both sides. 

Despite her valuing the opposite, Hermione had always craved the approval of others. The approval and acceptance of the magical community. That old, deep-rooted fear tore through her stomach. Without thinking, she heard herself speaking - 

“This –“ Hermione paused, unable to process the tempest of thoughts raging in her mind. However this had happened – however wonderful – it couldn’t be anything more. With everything holding them in the roles they played – how could they ever even try to find out what this was? She steadied herself. “- This can’t exist back there. We must never speak of it again.” 

Lucius was silent, his back to her as he calmly fastened the buttons of his shirt. 

She had no idea how he was reacting to her words. Another moment passed in silence as he continued buttoning. It was driving her mad. 

_“Lucius._ Do you agree? I said we can’t speak of this again.” She stared after him, waiting for him to face her and answer. 

When he’d reached the final button, he turned. The mask was in place once more – he was closed and cold and regal in conceited elegance. But his gaze was on the ground. After a second, he fixed her with a questioning look. 

“Of what, Ms. Granger?” 

He stared at her with perfect ease and composure, as though all that had transpired between them had never been. 

The return of her formal name. The return of his mask. The erasing of everything.

_What had she done? _

He inclined his head to her. “Enjoy your sunset.” 

Then he was gone in a swirling pop. 

_ _ _ _ _______ _ _ _ _ 

It had been two full weeks since Hermione’s unexpected adventure in the cove. 

She’d barely slept. 

Her mind longed to speak of it – to speak with _him._ Her body longed for his touch. Most agonizing of all, her heart longed to take back the cold declaration she’d made that had diminished everything into shame and secrecy.

The day after those fateful events had transpired, she found herself pacing her flat in the early hours of the morning, riddled with guilt and unable to think of little else. 

After frantic deliberation and several pro and con lists, Hermione had swallowed her pride and sent an owl. A short note requesting that they talk. 

She’d received no response.

In hindsight, what she should have written was a thoroughly repentant _apology_ for her behavior. 

But perhaps still sat high on that _‘pillar of virtue,’_ she somehow hadn’t been able to banish her pride that far. 

Two weeks later and this second transgression against him ached in her almost as badly as the first. 

At least the end of her day was nearing. The clock on the wall ticked louder by the minute as if purposefully tormenting her. Perhaps it was. 

Hermione sighed, puffing out the curls that hung in front of her face, before filing away the report she’d just managed to complete. She couldn’t wait to lock up and apparate home to a distracting novel and a cup of tea. 

The ticking of the clock suddenly sounded out of time – like it was echoing itself. Her eyes darted up. 

Oh! 

Standing on her window sill, pecking impatiently at the glass, was the most beautiful Barn Owl she had ever seen, a fold of parchment dangling from its leg. 

Hermione opened the window – it flew to the very center of her desk and waited, staring at her to hurry up and follow. 

If she’d thought an owl couldn’t look arrogant, she was wrong. Hermione had no doubt who his master must be. 

She reached urgently for his letter, just dodging an attempted peck from the impatient bird. “Malfoys…” she muttered.

Unfolding it with a complete lack of grace in her anxious excitement, she read:

Dear Healer Granger,

I am at an impasse. 

It seems I have been ruthlessly cursed. 

I find myself dreaming of, I dare say, unspeakable things.

These visions come nightly, waking me from my sleep. 

Indeed, their frequency has continued apace, 

and they seem poised to spill into my very waking hours should they not be tended to.

As I have never encountered a curse of this kind, 

I felt it wise to consult a master in the field.

If an opening in your no doubt busy schedule should arise, 

I would very much like to call upon your services and expertise in such matters.

While admittedly not the most amenable of patients, 

I assure you you’ll find me willing to submit to any manner of treatment you prescribe.

Incidentally -

The bandage once ripped, continues to sting.

My owl shall await your reply.

Sincerely,

_Lucius Abraxas Malfoy_

P.S. Meet Prometheus. 

Give him something for his trouble, or he’s liable to bite. 

Hermione was near giddy. She felt a bright excitement surge through her stomach. 

An olive branch. And all under this ruse. 

She bit her lip, reaching quickly for quill and parchment. Prometheus went for her fingers again.

“Alright, alright! Honestly…” Hermione rummaged in her desk drawer for some owl treats and rolled them over to him. He pecked them up and turned from her to enjoy his prize in privacy. 

After a few moments he was winging back through the window to deliver her reply.

_ _______ _

Mr. Malfoy,

How very vexing for you. 

That sounds to be quite a potent curse.

I should be only too happy to assist in treating your ailment - for a fee, or rather, a trade.

I have something in mind, which would be of great value to me.

I await your reply.

Sincerely,

_Healer Hermione J. Granger_

_ _______ _

She couldn’t believe the speed at which Prometheus returned to her, soaring through the small window once more to her desk with inexplicable grace. She tore open the letter:

Name it.

_\- L.A.M._

_ _______ _

Another treat for Prometheus and another response sent speeding away: 

Dinner. 

_\- Hermione_

_ _______ _

When he returned, Prometheus was beginning to look rather ragged. The owl was carrying not only a letter, but a small black box as well. Hermione poured him some water in her teacup and sat it next to another treat before rapidly opening the letter:

Done.

You need a lesson in bargaining strategy, Ms. Granger…

A debt is an unparalleled opportunity. 

Imagine - you might have asked anything of me. 

As an act of good faith and generosity, 

despite your deplorable lack of cunning, 

let us say that I owe you three.

The first: 6:00pm.

_\- L_

She shook her head, smiling - already craving the continuation of the duel they seemed to naturally fall into with each other. 

Hermione opened the box. Inside was a beautiful cream-peach seashell – A _portkey._

She looked at the clock. 5:20pm. Impatient, are we? 

And on his terms as usual… Hermione smiled. _We’ll see about that._

A hastily scribbled reply and the owl was back on his way.

_ _______ _

Bemused at the sight of Prometheus speeding through the window with the black box refastened to his leg, Lucius rose from the desk in his study. The mahogany grandfather clock read 5:52pm. 

Opening the box and finding the seashell still inside, he took his silver letter opener swiftly to the parchment’s seal - 

Oh you misunderstand me, Lucius.

Dinner.

Out. 

At a restaurant of my choosing.

Three, now, apparently.

I have reenchanted the portkey to take you there at your previously selected time. 

After, we can discuss your curse treatment -

and my forthcoming lesson in bargaining.

_\- H_

A wicked glint lit his eyes. 

Lucius took up the shell, rubbing his thumb along the smooth edge. 

He was grinning like a fool.

_ _ _ _ _______ _ _ _ _ 

The End


End file.
